The Best Laid Schemes
by waterlilylf
Summary: A newly-elected president, with the world at his feet. An assassin, waiting in the shadows. A moment where everything is about to change. AU. Yaoi.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I own no part of Gundam Wing and make no financial profit from writing.**_

 **Note: this story is for my wonderful friend, Dyna Dee.**

 **Many thanks to Kaeru Shisho, for multiple read-throughs and a myriad of comments and suggestions.**

 _ **The Best Laid Schemes:**_

 _ **Chapter 1/5:**_

 _'The best laid schemes o' Mice and Men gang oft agley'._ Robert Burns

He'd carefully timed his arrival just so; not early enough to stand out; not so late as to get caught up in the inevitable crowds. He politely stood back to let two young women take his place at the front of the queue, a pretty little show of gallantry that won him two brightly appreciative, admiring smiles; smiles that possibly wouldn't be quite so charming if they'd known he wasn't just being chivalrous, but wanted to check out procedure at the security desk.

He waited a minute or two while the pair of secret service agents made a performance of checking out the contents of the ladies' pointless little beaded bags, and asking one to remove a chunky gold bangle before going through the metal detectors.

Idiots, truly.

One of the women had a jewelled comb in her hair that she could use to take someone's eye out, or slash an artery, if she got close enough, and the other was wearing a ball gown with skirts wide enough to have had heavy artillery concealed beneath the voluminous layers. The agents didn't even go through the most perfunctory motions of searching them.

His turn. They gave only a cursory glance to his gold-embossed invitation, and then made a show of checking his name, or at least the name printed on the invitation, against their guest list.

Fools, in their postcard-pretty, postage-stamp-sized fairytale of a kingdom. You'd think they would have learned by now how the rest of the big, bad world operated, but apparently not. His superbly- tailored clothes had been handmade in London, by a tailor in Saville Row, and he could put on the right, aristocratic accent when he wanted. He looked right and sounded right, and that meant you could do pretty much anything you wanted, in Sanc.

Well, anywhere, really, if you put on a good enough show.

He removed his dinner jacket, and held his arms out while the male agent – not even cute, to add insult to injury – quickly patted him down, apologising profusely for the inconvenience, for the fact that he'd been chosen for a random search. The worst body search in history it was; with fingertips barely skimming over arms and back, and not even attempting to go below the waist. Afterwards, Trowa smiled tranquilly for a photo, knowing the carefully-styled fall of hair over his left eye would incapacitate any facial recognition software programme in the universe.

Both agents wished him a good evening; the woman even held his jacket so he could slide it back on, blushing when he smiled at her, and showed him the way to the Grand Ballroom, as if he could miss the stream of people heading that way.

Rank bloody amateurs; neither one gave any sign of recognizing him.

They'd only seen him going in and out of the palace a dozen times since that morning, but he'd been wearing an overall emblazoned with the logo of the maintenance crew and a baseball cap pulled low over his face, and as everyone knew, overalls and tool boxes served exactly the same purpose as invisibility cloaks.

 _Idiots_.

Just as well they were bloody incompetent, really, he thought, hiding a sudden, wry grin, given that on each of his last two trips he'd been pushing a wheelbarrow with a very dead body hidden under a pile of tarps and supplies. At least, they had bothered to check what was going in to the palace, but they hadn't given even the most cursory glance to what was going out.

He could have made off with the crown jewels if he'd wanted, and on any other occasion, he might have considered it, just for the fun of the thing.

Not today, though.

There were Preventers coming out of the door leading to the North tower, just before the courtyard; two Asian guys. They weren't in uniform but you could tell them a mile away, just from the way they moved. He knew the Chinese guy anyway; the one Zechs thought was so hot, another one of those little projects aimed at improving racial diversity in Preventers, and who was currently turning away from locking the door behind him.

They didn't give him more than a perfunctory glance, but he felt them watching as he walked past, that little prickle of _knowing_ at the back of his neck, that feeling that had saved his life not a few times.

Shit.

He deliberately took his time walking down the corridor, stopping at one point to study a group of stuffed pheasants in a domed display case. It was a hideous thing, but the glass case offered a fairly good reflection of the way he'd come. Chang and the other one had turned away, looking back toward the main door at a group of giggly young women who were following him, and he breathed just a little easier.

No reason in the world for them to suspect anything about him, really, except they shouldn't have been there.

 _Shit,_ squared.

He rounded the corner, took a quick glance around – this stretch at least was clear of guards, as had been arranged – paused to allow an elderly couple to make their doddering way around the corner, and used a key to open the solid oak door to the East Tower, and ducked through before anyone else came down the corridor, locking it after him. He took the stairs at a run, a couple of minutes behind schedule now.

Bloody Preventers boy scouts.

The package was just where he'd left it, a little over two hours ago, before going out to change; to transform himself into a whole other person and test the security procedures, and, not quite incidentally, to remove a certain amount of collateral damage. He assembled the telescope first, using one hand to sweep the courtyard six storeys below, while the other put the rifle together, something he could do in darkness, half-asleep, blind-drunk or semi-conscious. In daylight, it was a doddle and he settled it against the stone parapet, leaning against the wall, and sliding off his jacket and the snowy white shirt underneath, leaving only the long-sleeved black t-shirt.

Three.

Two.

One.

'Status?' A cool voice asked in his ear.

'In place. One problem. Two Prevvies outside the northern stairwell. They'd been up the tower.'

'Who?'

'Who do you think? Bloody Chang, and that new partner he's got. Isn't he supposed to be stationed in the inner courtyard?'

'Mm, yes, not that he ever does what he's supposed to. He's very good, isn't he?' Zechs murmured fondly.

Trowa rolled his eyes. 'Seriously? I don't think this is exactly the time to start singing Chang's praises, do you?' he snapped. 'And he hardly needed to be brilliant to work out the roof's a danger point. They must be checking all the towers.'

'It was Yuy with him, yes?' Zechs asked, suddenly brisk, 'The Japanese one? And _yes_ , that area is supposed to be clear.'

 _Shit._ To the power of whatever.

'Want me to take care of it? There's time.'

'I'll deal with it. Stay in position.'

'Oh, man. I love it when you talk dirty.'

'You love everything,' Zechs said, teasing, and then dropped his voice. 'Don't worry. I've got it.'

Don't worry. Yeah, right. In what universe was he not going to worry?

He took a deep breath, then another. It wasn't, in truth, terribly serious, he told himself; just something that was outside their plan.

 _Another_ thing.

Just a coincidence, maybe. Two agents who'd maybe arrived early for their shifts, and found a good spot to stand and observe the partygoers, and do a couple of last minute security checks before the official ceremony started and they moved to their official posts. Fuck it. No way that was what they were doing; not with Chang involved, and he didn't believe in coincidences. Of _course_ the towers were danger points; and if they checked out one, they were bound to check out the others.

Another breath, held until it almost hurt, and then exhaled. They'd known it wouldn't all go as planned. They had contingencies.

They had two bodies so far, and two bloody Preventers wanting to be heroes and he didn't believe in coincidences and never had.

'All right,' Zechs said abruptly in his ear. 'Sorted. No other problems?'

'Not as such. Seriously, those secret service agents at the front door are clueless idiots. Wouldn't have noticed if I'd been holding up a flashing neon sign saying I was a terrorist on an assassination job.'

Zechs laughed at his aggrieved tone. 'Well, we've always known that that they're just for window- dressing. And it's not really their fault; they do have very clear orders from the princess not to make her guests feel uncomfortable. Did you sort out that other little problem?'

Trowa grinned; that was a typically understated way of describing it. 'Yeah, I got them before they'd checked in with the catering manager; it'll be assumed they just didn't turn up for their shift. So hard to get reliable help these days,' he added gravely. 'Anyway, all cleared up.'

''Recycled too, I hope?'

'Well, naturally. Don't I always?'

'Hmm. Let's see. There _was_ that minor incident with the misplaced submarine.'

'Nearly six years ago,' he protested. 'Aren't you ever going to let me forget that?'

'Hmm, no, probably not,' Zechs considered, a very pronounced smirk in his voice. 'I have to go. Call me if anything else comes up.'

Trowa made a face. It wasn't like it had all been his fault, even, the submarine thing, but they just couldn't let it go. He took a few steps back from the open window, sighting down the barrel of his rifle. He had the best vantage point in the whole palace from here, high in the bell tower; it was why they'd chosen it.

They'd done a couple of dry runs over the past two weeks, taking turns to be the one down in the courtyard with the camera, playing at being a curious, snap-happy tourist. They'd chosen the bell tower partly for its height, partly because of the angle of the sun in the sky at this time of day. Whoever was up there could look out, but was hidden in shadow if anyone looked up. There was matte-black finish on the gun and the scope, just in case, to throw off any reflection from the setting sun.

It was fine, he assured himself, looking down. It was all good. It would work.

It wasn't Geneva.

There was plenty of activity starting to kick off down in the courtyard. There were palace guards in those fancy, foofy uniforms, standing to attention for photographs or ushering guests to their assigned seats, all wholly conscious that, for the next few hours, the eyes of the universe would be trained on events taking place in the Royal Palace in Sanq City.

They didn't know the half of it.

No one of any note on the podium yet, or in the VIP stands. With almost an hour to go until things got going in earnest, they'd all still be at the drinks reception inside the ballroom. Zechs would be in there too, somewhere; he had a special VIP pass, so he'd have a ringside seat in the inner sanctum, able to keep their target in view.

Trowa rested the gun on the ledge and picked up the scope, 'scanning the growing crowd below. Mostly locals, he thought, all dressed up in their Sunday best for the big occasion. There were palace guards, agents from the Sanq secret service, and Preventers in uniform. Probably twice as many more in plainclothes, Trowa thought, but they were keeping a low profile, in keeping with Princess Relena's orders that guests in her palace were not to be intimidated by a show of military force.

'Relena Peacecraft, the terrorists' new best friend,' he muttered, not really expecting Zechs to be listening, but he laughed.

'She is very young, you know.'

'Yeah, and not likely to live much longer at this rate,' Trowa said sourly, and then regretted it when he heard the other man's quick gasp. 'She'll be fine. No one's going to do anything to her.'

No one would dare, he reflected. Treize Khushrenada, the newly elected President of the ESUN, might be the focus of every rebel group in the universe, but the beautiful, idealistic young princess with her fairytale palace and her tragic past and her dreams of a perfect, peaceful universe was untouchable.

'How's it going with you? Everything all right?'

'Fine, yes. His Lordship is in his element,' Zechs said tartly. 'He's got half the European aristocracy queueing up to fawn over him.'

Trowa's mouth twisted. 'I can imagine.'

'Hmm. Yes. Look, nine o'clock. The girl in the red dress. She's just coming out into the courtyard.'

Trowa slid his eyes sideways, just for a second. He slept with women sometimes, if the mission called for it, but not out of choice. This one was attractive though; even if women weren't his preferred partners, he could still appreciate them. 'One of yours?'

'Lucrezia Noin,' Zechs said, letting that deep, velvety voice of his wrap lingeringly around every syllable. 'I'm sure I've told you about her. I knew her at the Academy, years ago.'

'What is she; a Preventer?' Trowa shook his head and tutted reprovingly. 'Forbidden fruit, my friend, you know that.'

'Not yet, actually. Convenient little window of opportunity for me there. She's just transferred from Mars, hasn't been assigned anywhere yet. She's very good.'

'Mars,' Trowa said dismissively. 'What did she do there? Fight aliens?'

'Don't be such a snob,' Zechs chided, smiling. 'And no, not one of mine, not yet. Rumour says she prefers women these days.'

'That the same rumour that says you prefer men?' Trowa teased. 'Or no, wait. That's actually way more than just a rumour.'

'Why limit oneself, ever? I thought that was your philosophy too.'

'What d'you know about my philosophy?'

'More than you think, possibly. You do occasionally talk in bed. Not very often, I grant you.'

'I didn't think you wanted me for my conversational skills, baby,' Trowa parried, arch. They'd done this a hundred times; stake outs and ambushes and situations very similar to this one, one of them on a roof with a rifle and a target in his sights and the other running interference on the ground. They could maunder on about nonsense for hours, if necessary.

'Oh, I've always wanted you for your very elaborate and diverse skill set.'

'Mmmn.' She was attractive enough, Lucrezia Noin, if your tastes lay in that direction. Ridiculous clothes, though. Why did women always have to burden themselves with flowing skirts? 'So, your Martian lady, d'you think she can she run in that gown?'

'Probably,' Zechs observed, a little distractedly. 'I wouldn't particularly want her to run though.'

'I can pass on references if you want, put in a good word,' Trowa offered, moving his 'scope on from the young woman in the dark red dress, and sweeping the growing crowds.

Things starting to happen on the podium; a couple of techies checking out the microphones and a Preventer agent from Bomb Disposal leading a large German shepherd up the steps.

He rolled his eyes. 'God. _Now_ they decide to become efficient.'

'About five hours too late,' Zechs agreed. 'Don't worry; they won't find anything. It's clear.'

'Wasn't worrying.' Zechs was one of the two people he totally trusted in the world. Instead, he watched the magnificent dog quarter the dais, nose to the ground. 'I'd like to have a dog, one day.'

'I'll get you a puppy for Christmas,' his partner offered.

'Thanks,' Trowa acknowledged, knowing it would never happen. Their lifestyles weren't in any way conducive to owning a pet. Although…everything would be bound to change after today, one way or another, so who knew?

'It will be all right, _zalam_ ,' Zechs told him, very low, and the endearment made him smile, in spite of everything; the nickname Zechs had given him when he'd been a kid, and hadn't had a proper name at all.

 _Not Geneva_.

'Here we go,' Zechs said after a few minutes of shared silence, as the ballroom doors swung open and people began to move outside.

VIPs resplendent in evening dress, the late afternoon sunlight sparkling on the women's jewels, and on the medals of the men in dress uniform. He couldn't see Zechs yet, but he'd be one of the last people out, sticking as close to the new president as possible.

He swung the telescope over the crowd anyway, and gave a low whistle. 'Well. I'll take one of those to go. Whipped cream on the side.'

'What are you blathering about now?' Zechs demanded.

'Just enjoying the fabled scenery in Sanq. Much the same as yourself.'

He zoomed in on the slight blond he'd noticed crossing to his seat in the front row. Damn. Most of the other people were busily looking around, but he was staring fixedly ahead. Lovely back view though.

Given where his seat was, he had to be some sort of VIP in his own right, or maybe just fucking one for the privilege of a ringside seat at the first public speech of the newly-inaugurated president of the ESUN.

First and last, quite possibly.

Eyes off the shiny toy, Barton, Trowa reprimanded himself. He wasn't there to ogle the guest list, although realistically nothing was going to happen until Khushrenada himself appeared. He swung the 'scope in another circle, noting Zechs walking out of the ballroom, the sun shining on his swathe of silver-gilt hair, and his head bent slightly to talk to the young woman beside him.

He shook his head reprovingly, and then supposed he wasn't much better, drooling over random blonds. Giving in to sudden impulse, he pulled out his smart-phone and looked at the seating plan, working out where the blond was. Who he was.

Quatre Raberba Winner. One of _those_ Winners, naturally. All of twenty-two and newly arrived on Earth, according to the _Financial Times_ , two months before, to work in the new European subsidiary. Damn, he was really going to have to start scanning the business supplements for eye candy. Privileged little L4 blossom, Trowa thought dismissively, skimming over the details of private schools and ponies. First time on Earth since family holidays as a young child.

He'd probably spent his life being warned against men like Trowa.

Any men, more likely, given where he was from.

He scanned a couple more photos – the front view was very appealing too – trying to blank out Zechs' whining that it wasn't nice to be selfish, that he had pointed out Lucrezia Noin, and was perfectly willing to share, that they were partners and _supposed_ to share things.

' _Fine_ ,' he muttered at last, just to shut Zechs up. 'The guy in seat 34.'

Zechs said nothing for a minute and then there was a sharp exhale of breath. 'Oh yes. _Very_ ornamental. And very definitely not the ninety-year-old Duchess of Padua, who's supposed to have that seat.'

' _What_?' Trowa demanded sharply, and then relaxed when Zechs chuckled.

'It's fine. He's been cleared. He must have friends in very high places, our Mr. Winner. Hardly surprising, given the way he looks. I imagine someone just wanted to improve the view in the front row. Which I have to say he does, quite effectively too.'

'Fuck off, you. Finders keepers. I saw him first.'

'It isn't nice to be selfish,' Zechs chided. 'Caring is sharing, remember?'

'Tough,' Trowa retorted, surprising himself with the vehemence in his voice. Wasn't like they hadn't ever done a threesome; it was something that happened on a fairly regular basis. Wasn't like Quatre Winner would ever be more than a silly little fantasy for either of them. 'Turn around, baby,' he crooned, staring down. 'Look up. _Quatre_!'

He flung the name into the universe like a wish, an entreaty, and Quatre Winner whirled in his seat and looked straight up at him.

'Oh, shit!' Trowa stumbled back, tripped over his own feet, and dropped the gun. 'Fuck!'

'Are you all right? What's happening?'

'I'm fine.' God, he was way more on edge than he'd thought over all this. Letting himself get rattled by some guy turning his head to look around, like every other bloody person was doing, gawking at the crowds. Just a stupid coincidence. That was all.

'Are you sure?''

'Yeah. Just a bit strung up. Fuck. This is insane, isn't it? We don't get paid nearly enough for this.'

'Well,' Zechs demurred. 'Actually, we do.'

'Yeah, maybe,' Trowa allowed.

'And we do get certain fringe benefits. Lots of travel to exotic places. Sex in exotic places.'

Trowa grinned. 'You know, I can think of at least two ways I could take that last sentence. And I really do love taking you.'

'Mind on the job, darling,' Zechs reproved him, but there was a definite smile in his voice. 'Business before pleasure and all that.'

'Yeah. Some fucking business, right?' he went on glumly. Obviously, the lack of professionalism was making their lives significantly easier, but, as a professional himself, the whole security set up was so shoddy it made his teeth ache. 'And half the Prevs down there are probably Colonial. Take him out themselves if they got the chance, save anyone else going to the trouble.'

Zechs laughed at him. 'Well, you know what he's always saying in those speeches of his. As an organisation, Preventers must be become more inclusive of minorities if it is to operate in today's changing world. Quote, unquote. He'll probably end up getting that on his headstone, given he's putting down the welcome mat for all these Colonials, provided they're stunningly attractive, naturally. Speaking of which, Yuy isn't at all bad, is he?'

'Didn't really have much of a chance to look,' Trowa said dryly. 'Anyway, I thought it was Chang you liked. Not that I can ever keep up.'

'Oh, you know I'm utterly smitten with the divine Wufei,' Zechs said extravagantly. 'Those _eyes_. Such a shame he's off limits.'

They were pretty much allowed to do what – and who – they wanted, off duty, but Preventer agents were way, _way_ off limits. Far too much of a security risk. They were supposed to keep occasional checks on the agency, on individual agents if required, but that was it.

'Yeah,' Trowa muttered absently, concentrating very hard on watching the stage, and not the people seated in front of it.

'It will be all right, you know,' Zechs said softly.

'It has to be, hasn't it?' God. They'd spent weeks planning this. Months, really. It had to be all right.

'Oh. I think we're up.' Zechs breathed. 'Good hunting. Z out.'

'Good hunting, yeah,' Trowa responded. 'T out.'


	2. Chapter 2

Note: as always, many thanks to Kaeru Shiso for baby-sitting this one (even if it doesn't quite go the way it did in her version.)

Chapter 2/5:

Things were finally starting to kick off down on the podium; he felt like he'd been standing in that damn tower for half a decade. Time did that sometime, when you were waiting for something big, holding your breath; became an almost tangible thing of cotton wool merged with viscous, clogging syrup. And then something would _click_ and the universe would jolt, and everything would just happen.

The princess, with a train of ladies in attendance walked onto the stage. A cadre of ESUN diplomats, male and female.

Something _clicked_.

And there he was, the inevitable dark red rose blooming in the lapel of his dark blue jacket. From this distance, it looked like a stain of blood. Treize Khushrenada, newly elected to the most powerful position in the known universe by a sweeping majority, and a perfect gentleman as always, offered one arm to the princess as he swept forward.

Not just President of the ESUN, Trowa mused. Also, since that morning, the ex-head of Preventers. A former military leader who'd seen action both on Earth and in the Colonial rebellions.

Not, by any reckoning, the most popular man in the universe.

He had style, Trowa acknowledged ruefully, watching. The princess swept a low curtsy, her long, full skirts foaming about her like flower-petals. A silly little piece of theatre, really, but it meant something, all the same. A very public acknowledgement of his new position by the princess, who'd opposed his appointment from the start.

The crowd went wild for it, naturally, the clapping only intensified when the girl rose gracefully and Treize kissed her hand.

Zechs whistled softly. 'Nicely done. Both of them.'

'He's won. She might as well try to get on his good side now. She's stuck with him for the next seven years.'

'Oh dear,' Zechs sighed. 'So very cynical, my friend. Who in the world taught you that?'

'Who indeed?' Trowa asked, very dry, and they both laughed. The seats on the stage were filling up, as more people came out of the palace, and Khushrenada bowed to the princess and turned to shake hands with the L3 ambassador. 'He does like his colonials, doesn't he?

'When he needs them, yes. Some of them rather too much, perhaps,' Zechs said, and then chuckled. 'Literally. Wait, by the way, 'til you see the new one from L2. He's been doing undercover work with the drug cartels there; looks the part too. Long hair, tattoos, piercings, _very_ tight leather trousers. Utterly delicious, just the sort I'd love to meet down a dark alley some night.'

'You sent me those photos, remember? He's hot, yeah. He was personally recruited, wasn't he? Want to bet where he'll end up?'

'Not much of a wager, going by historical precedent,' Zechs scoffed 'Not that I'd have any complaints. He does like playing with fire, doesn't he?'

'Going to get himself burnt, one of these days,' Trowa responded, tightening his grip on the rifle.

They looked like a couple from a kid's story-book, with the sunlight gleaming on Relena's jewels; on the gold braid on Khushrenada's jacket and sword hilt. No one had ever read Trowa those sorts of books when he was a kid; he'd never even seen one. He didn't really get the whole concept of happy endings.

The new president had a right to the uniform anyway; one of his titles was Commander-in-Chief of the ESUN peace-keeping forces. Most of his predecessors had preferred to keep the role purely ceremonial, officiating at occasional parades and ceremonials.

His Excellency Treize Khushrenada was quite clearly making a statement that he had other ideas.

Trowa lifted the rifle again, sweeping the crowd and focussing on Khushrenada's sleek head. 'Shit. This is stupid. It's so fucking _stupid_. I could take him out right now; anyone could.'

'Not with the princess so close,' Zechs said warningly. 'We've gone over this a million times. It'd be way too risky for anyone, shooting downwards.'

'You'd better be fucking right,' Trowa muttered, sighting on Relena's shining head and bejewelled tiara, just for the hell of it. Stupid, _stupid_ girl. Her parents had been assassinated in this very palace, when she'd been just a child. Her foster-father had been shot in front of her. And _still_ she clung on to all her pretty little ideals about pacifism, standing there looking like a princess from an illustrated fairy story, a human shield for the man at her side.

They'd pinned so very much on the assumption that she was untouchable, that no one would dare to endanger her. Stupid. There were all kinds of factions out there that probably didn't give a damn about her.

' _Ihday, shabh qalalinaan_ ,' Zechs breathed, hearing his breath hitch. 'It will be all right.'

In the middle of everything, he almost smiled. They were the first words Zechs had ever spoken to him, when he'd been twelve years old, and waiting to die. Instead, his whole life had changed.

 _Relax, little ghost._

'Will it?'

'It has to be. We are out to change the world, remember. And it starts today. Watch.'

The tumultuous applause had finally died down and the president began to speak, welcoming the assembled dignitaries, his voice was assured, calm. Someone in total control of his environment; in full command of his audience.

Trowa let his eyes close for just a second, listening.

Not a hint that the man had been in any way affected by the myriad of death threats which had been made against him since his appointment. He hadn't permitted his daughter to attend though, so he had to be taking them seriously at some level.

Some things _had_ changed since Geneva.

 _Good_ , Trowa thought grimly. Hardened professional though he was, he didn't want any chance of a seven-year-old girl having to witness her father's head exploding.

He spent the next hour scanning the crowd, the building, while the princess, the former vice-president, the new Head of Preventers; a decorated General of the Sanque Peace-keeping Forces, all made their own speeches, mostly lauding their new president's achievements, and plans for the future. Only Relena deviated at all from the fulsome praise, making pointed references to human rights and civil liberties.

It would be too risky trying to take Khushrenada out while he was surrounded by civilians, they'd decided; not when he'd be alone at the front of the stage for his inaugural speech, although Trowa still wasn't entirely sure of the wisdom of that. He'd let himself be over-ruled though, and he was damn well regretting it. Regretting the whole thing, if he was strictly honest. There was way, _way_ too much potential for everything to go belly-up.

Not long now.

'Ready?' Zechs breathed.

'Yeah.' He swung the rifle around, a slow, careful arc and then got Khushrenada in his sights, as he stepped away from the princess and bowed to the crowd. They'd gone over the schedule for the ceremony a million times, looking for that perfect opportunity when he'd be at his most vulnerable, and settled on the final moment when he'd step away from the princess' side, from the circle of diplomats and guards and other world leaders

He could hear Zechs breathing in fast shallow gasps, as he brought the gun on a second circle around the courtyard, focusing on the other rooftops, looking for a glint of sun on metal, a sudden movement, anything.

Nothing, just Treize Khushrenada standing alone in the centre of a stage in a palace courtyard, alone and exposed and knowing the whole universe would be hanging on to his every word.

The most perfect set up for an assassination imaginable.

Nothing happened, just Zechs' occasional murmurs of _steady, shabh_ and _nearly there_ , more to reassure himself than Trowa, probably, and then the new president making a deep, courtly bow as he finished speaking. Trowa let himself breathe out properly, for the first time in what felt like days.

Then, instead of turning and moving back to the protective circle of dignitaries, the way he'd done at the rehearsal, the way they'd planned it, damn it, Treize took a couple of steps forward and actually stepped down to the audience.

'Oh, _fuck_!' Trowa barked. 'Did you know he was going to do that?'

' _No_!'

'What do we do? Should I come down?'

'No! Stay where you are! Cover him! I don't know, I'll try to get to him, just….keep him safe.'

'I'll do my best.' Fucking _shit_. Bloody, cocksure, insane moron. They'd had protocols and they'd gone over them for the hundredth time that morning, and he'd damn well agreed, sniffing his stupid roses as he looked for the one perfect bloom to wear.

They'd _all_ agreed, even if he'd hated the whole thing from the start, he and Zechs both had, but Treize was set on the stupid charade, and then Zechs had caved, because he always did, eventually, leaving Trowa out-voted.

They'd tried to make it as safe as humanly possible. As safe as it could be for Treize Khushrenada to stand before a crowd with only the most basic of precautions. Only Trowa and Zechs, and a few of Zechs' best operatives in the crowd, even if they hadn't told Treize that. He'd probably guessed, though.

Might as well pin the fucking rose over your heart, Trowa had said bitterly, before he'd left that morning. Make it even easier for whatever maniacs were out there. Treize, bloody Treize, standing in his garden full of roses, with the sun gilding his hair to flame and the universe at his feet, had just laughed and then kissed him.

They – he and Zechs – had estimated they should be able to guarantee Treize's safety for that long. An hour to accept the congratulations of other world leaders, embedded in a thick cluster of dignitaries with Princess Relena at his side. Then half an hour in the open, making his own speech where he was so vulnerable he practically had a target painted on his chest.

Oh, but they were the idiots, for imagining he would keep to the agreement.

Even the unflappable, urbane Zechs, who would only lift one elegant eyebrow if a nuclear bomb appeared under his nose, had sounded freaked.

Not good.

'You bastard,' Trowa breathed. 'If you make it out of this, I'll shoot you myself, just to teach you a bloody lesson.'

He hefted the rifle, squinting down the sights. 'Oh, fucking fuck,' he moaned. ' _Z_! Where the freaking hell are you? Where is anyone? Those two guys, those agents, they're down there. You said you took care of them!'

'They're Preventers!' Zechs gasped, breathless, running. 'I had them relocated. What was I supposed to do; kill the pair of them?'

'If necessary, yes! _God_! Two freaking Colonials!' Chang, really, was safe enough; they'd known him for nearly three years at this point, but Yuy was still an unknown quantity. He'd only been in Sanq for half a year, having done eighteen months undercover in Tokyo; who really knew what he'd been doing there? ' _He's_ down there and he's not even armed!'

Not armed because he'd refused, point blank, even to consider it, claiming it would be an insult to the princess. Him and his stupid scruples. Of course, it hadn't stopped him having Zechs and Trowa there, both armed to the teeth.

He was wearing Kevlar at least, because Trowa and Zechs had insisted, had flatly refused to go along with this ridiculous masquerade if he wouldn't grant them that much, after no less than three of the death threats had very specifically mentioned a sniper at the ceremony. One of them, though, had described, in quite painstaking detail, the effects on the human skull, on that terrifyingly frail casing on bone, of a high velocity bullet fired at closer range.

The fuck up to end all fuck ups, that was what it was. There'd been threats against Treize even before he'd been elected; pretty much every damn rebel group in the universe had a price on his head. And they knew, they _knew_ , that despite exhaustive background checks and psychological testing and constant monitoring that there would be Preventers who felt that same way.

If they got out of this, he'd shoot Treize himself and garrotte Zechs with his own bloody hair. Might as well use the damn stuff for something, given the amount of time he spent taking care of it.

He swept the 'scope over the courtyard; Treize moving gracefully among the assembled crowds, smiling and saying charming things, and everyone turning to watch him. No, not everyone. Quatre Winner was staring straight ahead, at the empty stage. He had a second to think about that, before he realised the two Preventers, Chang and the other one, were moving towards Zechs.

'Fuck!' he yelled. 'I'm taking them out myself!'

'Stop!' Zechs snapped, just as Trowa lowered his gun, daring to let himself breathe. Treize, the asshole, was moving back from the crowd, a little phalanx of Sanq agents closing in behind him.

'Target safe,' Zechs breathed.

'Won't be safe when I get my hands on him,' Trowa grated. 'What in all the hells was that about?'

'I know what it's about, I should have guessed,' Zechs said, sounding utterly forlorn. 'There's an ancient ritual in Sanque; once a year, the king and queen go out among their people, no security. It's a symbol for how safe they feel; how much they trust their people not to harm them.'

'Not your fault,' Trowa said at once. 'You couldn't have guessed he'd be that much of a lunatic.'

Zechs gave him a somewhat shaky laugh. 'I should have. I've known him long enough. All right, I'm going inside. I'll try to keep the Supreme Lord of the Universe under some sort of control.'

'Yeah, good luck with that,' Trowa said wryly, and bent to start packing up his tool box. He spent the next twenty or so minutes working out creative ways to kill the asshole himself. Cyanide injected into the roots of his favourite vines to poison the grapes; some sort of deadly insect hidden in the vase of roses by his bedside. Flesh-eating bacteria in those bloody rose-scented bath oils he liked.

Well. Maybe not those. Trowa rather liked the bath oils himself. Liked the whole bathing thing, period. You could use those oils for things other than scenting warm water.

'Ah. I believe an apology may possibly be in order,' a voice said in his ear, as he'd finished disassembling the gun.

Not Zechs. Not remotely repentant either.

Of course not.

'Screw your apology!' Trowa snapped. 'You nearly gave us both freaking heart failure. Did you plan to do that all along?'

'No. Truly. It seemed… like a good idea.'

'It wasn't,' Trowa said flatly. 'That was some fucking risk. Insane. Just to shake a few people's hands when they'd probably voted for you anyway.'

'It wasn't just about that. It was a message. A sign that I am not prepared to be intimidated by threats, by terrorists. A sign that I have every trust in the security forces of this country to protect me.'

'Which you don't.'

'Oh well, of course not, but it's hardly expedient to broadcast the fact,' Treize demurred, with a little ripple of laughter in his voice.

Trowa laughed himself: he couldn't help it. The man was doolally, as they called it on the Colonies. Crazy. And he was crazy himself, for getting caught up in even half of Treize's crazy schemes. Had been, ever since he'd been a kid, since Africa.

'There, that's better,' Treize said smugly. 'You really should laugh more. And nothing did happen in the event, did it?'

Trowa swore, very graphically. 'Nothing happened,' he said hotly, 'as you put it, because Zechs located and disarmed the makings of a bomb under the stage, and because _I_ treble-checked the staff's IDs and took out the two waiters with false papers and links to rebel groups on L2 without anyone suspecting anything, so it wouldn't cast a damper on your lovely party. So maybe you can take one fucking minute to think about the things that could have happened and stop being so bloody blasé about it all.'

'Trowa,' Treize said, very soft, the voice he usually reserved for bed; for rich, dark wine and warm, rumpled linens and firelight. 'If I can be blasé about this it's only because I trust you and Zechs with my life and I always have. You know that.'

'Yeah. Well. You've made your point now,' Trowa said gruffly. He could be angry with Treize up to a point, but not when the other man spoke to him like that. Damn. 'Enough. You did it; you stood in front of hundreds of people, with minimal security, and made your speech and now maybe you can start being at least vaguely sensible where your safety is concerned.'

'But I have you and Zechs to be concerned about my safety,' Treize objected, practically purring with self-satisfaction. If anyone did ever get past them to shoot him, there'd be just that smug grin left afterwards, floating in the air. 'Now, are you coming to my party?'

'I wasn't planning to.'

'Rather a shame, when you're all dressed up. You look delightful, by the way, even though I do prefer your natural hair colour.'

'How d'you know what I look like?' Trowa was grinning, couldn't help himself. Bloody man. 'You can't see me.'

'I know what you're wearing, my dear. I did choose it, after all. I sometimes forget how very well you look in evening dress.'

'Better give me a few more missions in ballrooms then. Not much call for a dinner jacket in a jungle.'

'I'll have to consider it, since I do love dressing you up. Almost as much as undressing you.'

Trowa closed his eyes briefly, letting Treize's voice wash over him, fondness and desire and just a little teasing. 'Shouldn't you be off ruling the world or something, not flirting with me?'

'I'm taking a break,' Treize said grandly. 'And this is far more fun. Did you like my speech? Zechs did.'

'Didn't bother to listen,' Trowa said carelessly, just to hear that little mock-affronted gasp. 'I read your first draft last week anyway, remember?' he added. He'd read it in Treize's bed as it happened, leaning against one of the carved wooden posts with Treize's head in his lap, and even made a few suggestions himself before Zechs had finished faffing about with his hair in the bathroom and come to bed. 'Where _is_ Zechs anyway?'

'He was talking to a very charming young lady. You should come to the ball, you know. You might meet someone.'

'I have met someone,' Trowa said levelly, letting Treize interpret that however he wanted. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd meant it, even. Even after so many years, he still didn't know for sure if Treize was really gay or straight or bi. Probably whatever happened to be expedient at the time.

Not that Trowa even knew how he felt himself, most of the time. He'd grown out of the teenage crush on the man who'd saved his life and given him a new existence, moved beyond the dizzily adoring stage he'd floated into when Treize had finally taken him to bed.

'Well,' Treize said finally, apparently at something of a loss for once. 'Come anyway.' There was another slight pause before he spoke again. 'You can come in, if you choose. You know that.'

Come in.

Not just an invitation to a party at all.

'I'm more valuable on the outside, don't you think?'

It's been fifeen years, Nanashi,' Treize breathed, using the name Trowa had used before he'd even had a name at all, before Treize had given him one in a desert in Somalia, on a night of fire and blood with all his troupe slaughtered around him. 'Enough, perhaps?'

Trowa shrugged, forgetting that Treize couldn't see him because he forgot sometimes that Treize couldn't actually do everything. Treize had first suggested it months ago, and Trowa was still fairly ambivalent about the idea. It wasn't like they'd all be setting up house together if he agreed; he'd still be on his own, most of the time, but far more vulnerable out in the open, with an actual ongoing identity.

'One day, maybe.'

Treize just left it at that 'Very well, but do come to the party, at least. Please.' For all it was wrapped in charm and courtesy, it was a command this time and then he laughed. 'You may even enjoy yourself.'

Shit. He had his own reasons for not wanting to go. One reason. Called Quatre Raberba Winner. Because he could rationalise events all he wanted; could call it coincidence or an accident or whatever, but something had happened when he'd called Quatre's name, in his mind, and it was scaring the hell out of him.


	3. Chapter 3

Note: as always, many thanks to Kaeru Shisho for helping.

 _ **The Best Laid Plans:**_

 _ **Chapter 3/5:**_

There were Preventers stationed at the doors to the ballroom. Efficient ones even; they looked hard at his ID and actually scanned his invitation and asked a couple of extra questions.

Trowa answered composedly, knowing that everything about his false identity was watertight, glad that the security in here, at least, seemed to be up to scratch.

'I thought you weren't going to come.' Zechs' voice spoke quietly in his ear as he walked inside.

'I was given the royal summons,' Trowa said wryly, raising the glass of champagne he'd collected from a passing waiter to his lips, and scanning the ballroom for Treize. He wasn't quite sure why he was there, although maybe Treize was feeling a bit rattled and wanted some extra security around. Or just to have them both close at hand for later if he fancied company. 'Where is His Lordship anyway?'

'Dancing with the princess. Straight ahead. You'll see.'

He saw Zechs first, dancing with Lucrezia Noin, smiling down at her. The waltz had ended by the time Trowa slid through the thronged crowds. As he watched, Treize spun Relena to a halt and bowed low. Just one of his typical courtly gestures, but this one seemed to stretch on as everyone clapped.

' _Seriously_?'

'Well, he'll have to marry someone eventually,' Zechs observed. He'd left his partner with a slight bow of his own, handing her over to some dark-suited diplomatic type. The Italian ambassador, maybe, Trowa thought.

His tone was very carefully neutral, so maybe Treize had mentioned something; he was always doing that, always playing his little games, keeping the balance of power constantly shifting between them.

Or maybe he was just trying very hard not to show that he cared.

'He can't play the tragically grieving widower for the rest of his life,' Zechs continued, 'She'd be a good match. It's not like either of us has the right pedigree for it.'

'You do.'

'Not the right background then,' Zechs grated, and Trowa flinched at the tone in his voice. Trowa's past, what he could remember of it, had been constant struggle for the most basic survival, up until meeting Treize, but Zechs had had a home and a family once.

'I'm sorry,' he said uselessly.

'For what? The hero always gets the princess, you know that.'

Not much Trowa could say to that, he thought morosely, skulking around the periphery of the dance floor, taking out his phone if anyone looked like they might approach him, and reflecting that Zechs was really far better at this sort of thing. He knew how to make the right sort of small talk, charming people and deflecting any personal questions. Trowa could do that if he had to, but it was damn exhausting and he couldn't really be bothered, and he was tired anyway because he hadn't slept well for the last few nights; hadn't slept at all, really.

It was just another mission, he told himself. He had something definite focus on.

Of course, he did, really. Two things. Keep Treize from doing anything spectacularly, suicidally stupid – anything _else_ , he amended - and keep the hell away from Quatre Raberba Winner.

He settled for idling around the walls, keeping a weather eye on Treize and Zechs, and taking an occasional measured sip of his drink. He didn't like much champagne; he liked the idea of it well enough, but Treize had taught him to appreciate wine, and champagne was too sweet, too fizzy. Anyway, it wouldn't help the headache that had been lurking behind his temples all day and that was currently making a bid for invasion.

Damn.

He should have just told Treize that he was going home, although he wasn't sure, these days, exactly where that was. There was Treize's mansion outside the city here, and Zechs' apartment but he didn't really feel like going back to either place, not alone.

If _home_ had ever been such a thing as a physical place, it would be the villa in Alexandria, even though he hadn't been there in months, and it was years now since they'd all been there together, and he didn't think that Treize would ever go back. It was still where he'd lived for almost five years; where Treize had shown him how to play the piano and chess, and Zechs had taught him to read and he'd had a dog.

It didn't matter anyway, he told himself firmly. Home was where the other two were, and always had been, and he'd end up in bed with Zechs, hopefully, unless his partner decided to spend the night with the girl in the red dress. Or with Treize, if he wanted companionship on his big night

He wasn't lacking companionship now, Trowa noted sourly. He was on the dance floor again, waltzing with an opulently well-upholstered beauty.

'Oh, dear,' Zechs said in his ear. 'I don't think either of us could ever possibly compete with that. Not with those, ah, assets.'

Trowa laughed. 'Well, lucky for us he doesn't normally go for women.' Not for overly-endowed brunettes at any rate. 'Who is she anyway?'

'Carmen Rodriguez,' supplied Zechs, who knew everyone. 'She was Miss Brazil a couple of years ago, before marrying an industrialist who owns most of the country.'

'Not exactly his type, is she?' He took another sip of champagne, watching Treize as he was presented with another partner; a lovely, dark-haired girl in the white dress and pearls of a debutante.

'Kristina Von Stift,' Zechs said, before he could ask. 'The only daughter of an Austrian arch-duke. _Very_ well connected.'

'Fancy that. So, has he said anything to you about actually marrying again?'

'Not as such. You know what he's like, though. Just one or two hints.'

'So, what's the deal for tonight then? He's planning to deflower some girl in the royal suite?'

'Well, hopefully not the princess. Half of Sanq would be after him with torches and pitchforks for touching her. But no, I don't think a girl's on the agenda. I don't know. He mentioned someone he'd met at the reception. Most definitely not a girl, by the sound of it.'

'Probably just teasing,' Trowa said absently, although you never really knew, he thought absently, watching Treize lead the dark girl off the floor. He didn't go back to dance this time, but began to circle the room, leaving sighs and smiles in his wake.

'There'll be plenty of young ladies dreaming of those blue eyes in bed later,' Zechs murmured, sounding amused at the idea. 'And a few young gentlemen, probably.'

'Weeping into their lace pillows,' Trowa agreed. Treize was a terrible flirt, loved making people fall under his spell but it rarely went past that, and he'd married one of the few exceptions.

Not wanting to get too close to anyone, Trowa thought, which was something he could understand all too well. That and wanting to maintain that controlled air of detachment. Hard to keep that up during sex with someone. Not if you were doing it properly anyway and, really, if you got him in bed, in the right mood, Treize Khushrenada was the very opposite of controlled or detached.

Trowa said something else absently, attention suddenly caught by a glimpse of bright blond hair at the opposite end of the room. There! He'd noticed Winner before, naturally, usually doing his best to stay by the wall, avoiding any company, and he'd carefully turned the other way.

He wasn't alone this time, though. Trowa frowned, looking after him and his companion. What the hell was he doing with someone like Septem? He didn't look particularly comfortable about it, but he wasn't making any sort of effort to move away either. Trowa shook his head; he'd heard the stories about Septem, sure, but the man was hardly likely to assault someone in a crowded ballroom.

He turned away resolutely, saying something silly to Zechs to make his friend laugh, and taking a rather distasteful sip of champagne, wishing for a real drink. Quatre Winner wasn't any of his concern.

End of story.

None of his business.

 _Shit._

Something wrong, very wrong. A splinter of fear in his soul, and he hadn't felt like that for years, not since he'd been a kid and….

'Trowa?' Zechs demanded, sounding distressed himself, forgetting himself enough to use his name, as Trowa strode unerringly across the dance floor, ignoring the dancers. 'What is it? What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' Trowa snapped. 'I've got it.'

They weren't in the ballroom itself, when he found them, but in a small ante-chamber down in the corridor. Septum had the blond backed against the wall, eyeing the blond like a particularly toothsome morsel of iced confectionary, as if he couldn't wait to sink his teeth into him.

The bastard leaned in even closer, clearly taking stillness and silence as acquiescence.

 _Shit_ , Trowa thought, looking at Winner's face. He was about to do something – cry out, try to push Septem off, yell for Preventers - something that would be impossible to cover up, and would cause all kinds of scandal, and spoil Treize's carefully planned party.

'He's not interested,' Trowa said coolly, stepping around the bookcase.

Septem didn't even bother to look at him, running one hand down Quatre's arm. 'Out. Now.'

'I don't think so.'

I don't think you're entirely aware of who I am, young man.'

Bloody aristocrats, thinking they owned the world and everything in it. Trowa had had well over a decade of Treize though; more than enough time to learn about how to be intimidating. 'Oh, I'm very aware of who you are, General. It's why I'm surprised to see you here actually. I thought you'd have been preparing for the military tribunal next week. Exactly how many soldiers died under your command in Chile? How many civillians?'

The asshole started to splutter something, giving Trowa a narrow look, taking in the clothes, the accent. Just to have received an invitation to this shindig meant he was someone, or was very strongly connected to someone. And he knew something that certainly wasn't public knowledge.

'Now, get your hand away from him, or I'll break every bone in it. And if you ever go anywhere near him again, you'd better pray that tribunal finds you guilty as hell, because you might just possibly be safe from me in a military prison. Got that?'

Septem cast him a look filled with loathing, but he snatched his hand away. 'If he's yours, try keeping him on a leash. Or teach him how to behave when you do let him run around loose.'

'Oh,' Quatre Winner said softly, just a gentle exhale of breath as Septem stalked off, the door slamming in his wake. 'Thank you. But I could have taken care of it.'

'I know you could,' Trowa told him, equally low. 'But you really don't want to make a scene in a place like this.'

The blond – his blond – actually managed a strangled laugh for that. 'What you just did, was that not a scene?'

'A very private one. No one else noticed.'

Quatre lifted his head and smiled at him, very faintly, and all of a sudden the universe acquired a new shimmer. 'I see. Well, thank you again.'

It sounded just a little like a dismissal, but Trowa stepped closer instead and the other man leaned into his touch, breathed out gently.

'There now,' Trowa murmured, settling an arm around his waist. 'You're all right, Quatre. I've got you.'

Quatre murmured something, muffled against Trowa's shoulder, and lifted his head. 'How do you know my name?'

Nothing more than mild curiosity in his expression. Trowa shook his head, unable to imagine what it must be like to be that trusting.

'I read the financial papers occasionally.' He trailed his fingers down the back of Quatre's neck, just skimming over the soft hairs, gentling him. 'OK?'

Quatre didn't say anything, but his head jerked once against Trowa's chest.

'Good. You're fine now. Listen, did no one ever tell you not to go wandering off with strange men?' He tried to make it sound funny; it just came out stupid and a bit forlorn, but Quatre gave him an odd, choked-off little laugh anyway.

'I – I didn't, not really. I didn't mean to, but he said he knew my father and he wanted to ask me about him, and the – His Excellency introduced us at the reception and I didn't want to be impolite when he asked and, oh, I'm such an idiot, aren't I?'

'Not an idiot, Quatre. Maybe a little bit too trusting,' Trowa amended, although the last few minutes had probably taken care of that. Or perhaps not, the way he was cuddling up to Trowa.

Damn it.

So beautiful, Trowa thought, looking at him, at the delicate golden filigree of eyelashes tangling with his fringe of hair, the delicate blush.

His hand slid through Quatre's shining hair, and traced the line of his jaw. 'Quatre. Look at me, will you?'

'Yes?' He tilted his head obediently.

This was it then, Trowa thought numbly. This was how it was. This was what it was like. Just the two of them. Quatre's eyes were the colour you saw in deep ocean, sometimes; beyond the breakers, where sunlight hit a cresting wave, just before it broke.

He had to lean down, just a little, to brush his mouth over Quatre's, the blond allowed it for a heartbeat and then pulled back, shaking his head.

'Don't. Please.'

'Shhhh,' he breathed, taking a very deliberate step back, sickened that Quatre thought he might be anything like Septem. 'It's OK. I wouldn't hurt you.'

'I know. It's just…' He swallowed, took a quick breath. 'I really can't, I'm not…. I'm so sorry. There is…somebody else. I'm sorry.'

He was gone before Trowa's brain had even taken the words in.

Buggering fuck.

His own fault, really, for not guessing that someone like Quatre Winner was already taken. Of _course_ he was. He had to be one of the most eligible people in the entire universe. Of course there would be someone.

'All right?' Zechs asked quietly when he walked back into the ballroom a few minutes later. Trowa had a quick look around, couldn't see him anywhere, but he'd clearly been watching. It had to have been pretty obvious what had happened. All of it.

'Sorted, yeah.'

'So why exactly are you talking to me, instead of that very decorative blond?'

'He's taken.' Trowa propped himself in a corner; the band was playing a rather jazzed-up version of the _Blue Danube_. Treize wouldn't like that, Trowa thought absently. People were waltzing. No sign of Treize himself.

'He's an idiot, if he turned you down,' Zechs told him. 'Oh. His Majesty wants a word. Privately.'

'Yeah.' He took a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly before Treize spoke.

'I gather a certain military gentleman was making a nuisance of himself with one of my guests.'

Quatre Winner,' he said baldly. 'That guest.'

'Who?'

It was done well, Trowa thought, a half-casual question, and it would have fooled pretty much anyone else in the universe. Trowa knew him too well, though. Treize didn't forget people. He certainly wouldn't forget someone he'd apparently talked to recently, someone who looked like Quatre Winner, someone who was important.

'You know who he is.'

'Oh, the Winner boy from L4. Yes, of course I do. Did anything happen?'

'No. I want to kill that bastard.'

'Hmm. I don't disagree in principle, but let's wait until his trial and see what happens. I'd rather like to see him publicly humiliated and prosecuted, if you don't mind. Thank you for intervening.'

'I shouldn't have had to,' Trowa said curtly. 'Did you actually mean to throw Winner to the wolves like that? Seriously? Introducing someone like that to filth like Septem?'

'It wasn't like that,' Treize said, very calm, very controlled. 'We were talking; Septem and some other officers from his brigade were close by. I could hardly avoid making introductions. Winner's not a child. I assumed he would know how to behave at a party.'

'He's from L4,' Trowa retorted. 'You know what his background's got to be like. You honestly think he'd know how to handle someone like that?'

'Apparently not. Silly boy,' Treize said, fondly indulgent, an unmistakable note in his voice.

Oh.

It was obvious, if he let himself think about it. So obvious he was a fool to have missed it. There was no way that Quatre Winner, an unknown colonial, no matter how rich his father was, should have been sitting in the front row of the ceremony, among kings and queens and the cream of European aristocracy, in a seat previously reserved for the Duchess of Padua.

And he was just Treize's type. Nothing less than the only son of one of the most prominent Colonial families. He was stunning, intelligent, eminently _suitable_. A lovely young man oozing potential, with the perfect background.

No wonder he'd been dropping hints to Zechs about meeting someone at the reception. And then he'd presumably arranged for Quatre to be given one of the best seats at the ceremony, and…whatever.

'Honestly, if Septem was making a nuisance of himself, all Quatre had to do was mention my name,' Treize went on.

'Yeah. Maybe he didn't want to broadcast that you were going to be screwing him after the banquet. Odd, that.'

'All right.' Treize said it in the voice that meant _Enough_. 'Since the charming Quatre is clearly incapable of looking after himself, find him please, and take him to my suite. That should keep him out of trouble.'


End file.
